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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728020">satisfied</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz'>shoutz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Past Lahabrea/Warrior of Light, Past Love Triangle, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:20:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,691</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>She was never yours.</em>
  </p>
  <p>The thought strikes him as her lips press against his, wanting and tempting and yet somehow not enough to soothe him. The strength of a hundred— a thousand— <em>one</em> lone, solemn voice reminding Emet-Selch of what it truly means to love her.</p>
  <p>To have loved, to yet love, to love still until time loses its meaning — when past, present, and future all melt into one, into none.</p>
  <p>And, <em>worse,</em> to be loved by her.</p>
</blockquote>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>satisfied</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanuaryBlue/gifts">JanuaryBlue</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>written for the lovely Januaryblue!! thank you for letting me write this it was so fun! it's a LOT of emotions and a LITTLE porn. just kidding it's a lot of porn too. vaguely canon-compliant, mild shadowbringers spoilers (and arr spoilers......)</p><p>title from and heavily inspired by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InupuylYdcY">Satisfied</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> She was never yours. </em>
</p><p>The thought strikes him as her lips press against his, wanting and tempting and yet somehow not enough to soothe him. The strength of a hundred— a thousand— <em> one </em>lone, solemn voice reminding Emet-Selch of what it truly means to love her.</p><p>To have loved, to yet love, to love still until time loses its meaning — when past, present, and future all melt into one, into none.</p><p>And, <em> worse, </em> to be loved by her.</p><p>It may at one point have been untrue. There may have been a turning point, a crux at which the two roads split, but… That had been a different time, a different world entirely. A different <em> her. </em></p><p>Though what remains of her now is so achingly familiar, it is but a fraction of what she had been. And even still, her memories morph and shift, and she remembers not the past that Emet-Selch so fondly looks upon. She does not remember that she did not belong to Emet-Selch.</p><p>But he could never forget.</p><p>His hands hesitate for the span of a breath, a single moment, before they wrap around her and <em> hold. </em> She melts into his touch with a soft sigh and it’s another twist of the knife in his gut, another wound to mount upon the others she has inflicted and will inflict without even knowing.</p><p>
  <em> She was never yours. </em>
</p><p>The first day they met had been eons ago, worlds ago, lifetime upon lifetime — so long ago that sometimes Hades wonders if it was a dream. If it happened at all. But those are moments of weakness, and nothing more. Zodiark and the passion He sparks in Hades’ breast serve to remind him of their goal and the importance of achieving it.</p><p>It was all real, and thus, so was she.</p><p>She had been a Convocation hopeful, as the rest of them, though the rest were not nearly as skilled in creation as she. Coupled with her unrivalled intellect and a knack for realizing complex designs, they would be fools to not at the very least consider her to their fullest collective extents. Such prowess and potential had made her particularly of interest to the current Convocation members. A group which, of course, included Hades.</p><p>“Why must you look so gloomy? This is a <em> party, </em> not a funeral.”</p><p>They had been her first words to Hades and they were said with a coy smile, a playful tap on his shoulder, and they spelled the beginning of what would ultimately become Hades’ end. He fought a blush as he stammered his response, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”</p><p>“I don’t blame you, really,” she said, swirling a wine glass before taking a sip of her deep red. Her intelligent eyes pinned him like prey, despite her lighthearted tone. “Most of these people — while, of course, renowned and respectable individuals in their own rights — couldn’t have a good time if their life depended upon it. <em> Dreadfully </em> boring.”</p><p>It startled a laugh from his lungs and she simply beamed to see it. Her smile was so warm, her aether so blindingly bright.</p><p>“Is that right?”</p><p>
  <em> But she was never yours. </em>
</p><p>She sheds away layer after layer of his intricate garb, his mummer’s farce, the one thing keeping <em> this </em> version of him shielded from her eyes. He dares not appear before her in any other form — certainly not in Ascian robes, and even less would he ever don Amaurotine garb in her presence. This is the form he could take that would inspire the least heartbreak: the founding father of the nation she despised, the harbinger of each and every one of her woes thus far, though she does not yet know to what extent. In either case, anger and hatred are preferable to whatever she may feel seeing the parts of him which he obscures, parts of him she used to know so well. But in whichever form suits his purposes, her fingers work with great care, and each piece of his attire falls away until he is bare to her, so vulnerable and yet so <em> safe. </em></p><p>He must make a noise at that thought, if her light chuckle is indicative of anything. She abandons his lips only to trail down, down, pressing kisses at the junction of his jaw, his neck, his collar. A breath leaves his lungs in a shaky rush, one he can only hope she cannot hear. Each touch of fingers and lips sparks like flame against his skin and for the first time in so long, Emet-Selch feels every ilm of what little humanity remains to him.</p><p>To feel her so completely, to be more akin to molding clay than a man beneath deft fingers and careful attention. In its wake he can do naught but tighten his fingers at her hips, barely resisting the urge to pull her closer, to wrest control of the situation. To <em> take, </em> so very selfishly.</p><p>Guilt, amidst a confluence of complex emotions stirring within him, keeps him still.</p><p>
  <em> She was never yours. </em>
</p><p>They had talked of everything and nothing and all the minutiae between, in lock-step on each and every topic until she was pulled elsewhere by another Convocation applicant, another starry-eyed student hoping to rise in rank. It was quickly followed by Hades’ second glass of wine, enjoyed alone until someone else found him and struck a conversation.</p><p>“You spoke with her?” Lahabrea had asked. Hades almost returned his question with another but there was no doubt as to whom he referred. She had caught the eyes of nearly everyone in attendance and the two of them were no exception.</p><p>“She spoke with me, more like,” came his all-too casual response. Lahabrea’s eyes found her then, as she spoke with another, animated and smiling, and—</p><p>Oh, he was helpless.</p><p>“Lucky you,” came Lahabrea’s reply, almost wistful, and it led to a cascade of realizations in Hades’ mind.</p><p>Her laugh sounded across the hall, bright and lively. It irked Hades that it was in response to another — that <em> he </em> was not the cause of her joy. A pang of jealousy, but of whom? Her, for laughing? Her conversational partner, for making her laugh? Hades himself, for not taking the opportunity once it was handed to him? Lahabrea, for noticing her at all? Oh, but Lahabrea  perhaps most of all — how could he possibly ignore the beginnings of his dear friend's infatuation? And one not quite unlike Hades’ own.</p><p>An infatuation he dared not broach, lest spark become inferno.</p><p>
  <em> And she was never yours. </em>
</p><p>Her hands lower themselves and cover his own, encouraging his touch, and his resolve fades instantaneously. His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of her hips and pull her closer until they are pressed in a hard line against one another, warmth feeding off each other as arousal builds. The sharp nip of teeth at his neck has him hissing a sudden breath. Heat and desire floods his flesh, and each and every nerve is engulfed in <em> her. </em></p><p>“Why do you hesitate?”</p><p>Her words skim along his neck, barely above a whisper, but he feels them as yet another of her painstaking attentions, yet another twist of the knife as he considers an answer.</p><p>She hears his silence for what it is. “And don’t even <em> think </em> of lying to me, Emet-Selch. Not now.”</p><p>“I would never,” he says, but even that in itself is a partial lie. One more for the pile of half-truths he carries upon two slouching shoulders, another obfuscation to avoid the past and what the future has become in its wake. “I merely… I want you to be sure.”</p><p>Very carefully he does <em> not </em> say, <em> I want you to want me. Me, and not him. </em></p><p>She pulls back to look into his eyes and that alone is nearly too much for him. Her hands abandon his and land on either side of his face, forcing his attention to her. As if anything other than her could possibly occupy his mind.</p><p>“Emet-Selch. I am sure. Clear of mind and with my whole heart I tell you, <em> I want this.” </em> Her left hand abandons his cheek and instead palms at the growing stiffness between his legs, flushed red and wanting in the open air. Another vulnerability, another chink in his armor that she has so carefully prodded through to find the softest parts of him. He clenches his teeth against a moan. “I want <em> you.” </em></p><p>
  <em> Oh, she was never yours. </em>
</p><p>Every time Hades looked to Lahabrea, his eyes were either pinned to her or searching her out amidst the crowd. Everything he had said to his old friend entered one ear and exited the other without a hint of absorption. And yet Hades was not in the least bit surprised. Were he less aware, he would do the exact same. Perhaps he would even have sought her out once more, struck up another conversation, cemented himself in her mind as one she would never forget. A suitor, perhaps.</p><p>And with her position on the Convocation all but assured… The mere notion of the future they could have together had his heart aching. But even still, would a relationship between two members of the Convocation even be tolerated? Would they see her position as less, or even unearned if she had romantic connections to Hades? And what of all the others making moony eyes in her direction? </p><p>But even with all this looming in the back of his mind, he knew Lahabrea. And he knew himself.</p><p>And most importantly, he knew it would ultimately be <em> her </em> choice.</p><p>To Hades’ utter shock, she sought him out once more about an hour later. Alone and brooding into his nth glass of wine, the axis of his thoughts found him a second time in as many hours — something of which Hades would have taken full advantage if not for the churning uncertainty.</p><p>“I don’t know how you did it but congratulations,” she says with that same airy nonchalance, “You somehow look even more miserable than before. I was unaware that such a thing was even possible.”</p><p>He immediately brightens to see her again, to hear her, but…</p><p>
  <em>She could have been yours.</em>
</p><p>Her words decimate the paltry remains of his resolve. Emet-Selch leans down and takes her lips in a kiss that borders on bruising in its intensity, an intensity which only grows as she eagerly reciprocates. Ilm by ilm he dissolves, and so too do his inhibitions. The more he allows himself to indulge in what he for so long denied himself, the more he can convince himself he somehow deserves it. Lahabrea be damned, she’s so <em> soft. </em> How could he deny himself? And she, so pliant and wanting and reciprocative, remains oblivious to the wounds she simultaneously inflicts and heals — sometimes within the same breath.</p><p>She lets out a soft sigh. Emet-Selch finds himself desperate to hear another.</p><p>Lahabrea is dead and gone, at any rate, and even as he lived and declined into a slow, painful madness, he never recognized her. <em> This </em>version of her. She killed her former lover oblivious to the fact and he died just the same. Why should he care?</p><p>Why does he still care?</p><p>
  <em>You would never let her be yours.</em>
</p><p>As much as it pains him, his conviction has the last word. </p><p>He holds a hand towards her, palm facing up, and she takes it so gracefully in her own.</p><p>“Come,” Hades says, “there is someone I’d like you to meet.”</p><p>Ever in denial of his own heart. Ever cautious of the hearts of others. Such spite from a dear friend would be nightmarish, especially as Lahabrea had been friend and colleague both. And how selfish of Hades to want to keep her for himself. Like a petulant child. But below those petty, meaningless rationalizations there was one to which he clung most tightly, one last hope.</p><p>The hope that it was ultimately her choice.</p><p>And…</p><p>“Lahabrea,” he had said, and her hand left Hades’ for Lahabrea’s. As he took it he bowed low to place a kiss upon the back. Hades refused to look at her in fear of whatever reaction she may have to <em> that. </em> “A pleasure to finally meet you.” </p><p>
  <em> She was never yours. </em>
</p><p>She walks him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of her mattress. He lets his balance give way and sits; like this, she’s taller, and the satisfaction of this fact makes itself present in her half-lidded eyes, in her slight smile. A blaze ignites itself in Emet-Selch’s chest and his cock twitches in arousal, a reaction which does not escape her hungry gaze. Her approach is slow, measured as she mounts his lap and crowds his personal space. Her arms wrap around his neck and she stays looming over him and <em> oh, </em> she’s simply beautiful from this angle.</p><p>She reaches up and combs his hair back with her fingers, nails scraping against his scalp. He shudders, so sensitive to each and every point of contact between the two of them: her fingers in his hair, her other arm resting on his shoulder, and her cunt as it grinds in a slow circle against his thigh. Yet still his hands hesitate at her hips, holding to hold but refusing to presume anything beyond that.</p><p>Emet-Selch dips so far back into his well of doubts that it surprises him to feel her lips again, so sweet as they press against his own. The motion sparks life back into his stuttered limbs; his hands smooth across her waist and rest at the small of her back just barely pulling her closer as he opens his lips to her tongue. He uses the sensations — the pleasure — as leverage against his own uncertainty.</p><p>In its wake, he can almost forget — can almost make himself believe that this is how it has <em> always </em>been between them.</p><p>She moans against him. He pushes her hips down into his thigh firmer and he earns another for his troubles, louder and so divine to his eager ears. Her fingers tug where they’re tangled in his hair as his deft fingers find her clit, stroking in slow circles as she ruts against him. Their kiss devolves into something sloppy and nebulous, with neither beauty nor grace. Perfect, uninhibited sensuality.</p><p>He pulls her impossibly closer — chest to heaving chest, heart to beating heart. Yet even still it is not close enough. He strokes feather-light fingertips up and down her flank appreciatively and she whimpers — <em> whimpers </em> — at the sensation.</p><p>She pulls back a hair’s breadth and her eyes study him so keenly, so desperate to take in the vision of him.</p><p>To remember.</p><p>
  <em> She was never yours. </em>
</p><p>The rest became history. She and Lahabrea grew close, and closer still once she joined the Convocation proper. Hades maintained a cordial friendship but refused to let himself dwell. Instead he threw himself headlong into his work, a meager attempt to keep his still-burning affection at bay. It worked, or near enough to make no difference.</p><p>And when the Final Days came, she vanished.</p><p>Lahabrea searched endlessly for her, years upon years of combing through the shattered remains of the world they once knew. Elididus did not at first take issue with this, until it began to hinder their — His — righteous progress.</p><p>Hades — no, <em> Emet-Selch </em> felt the urge to search just the same. If not for his own selfish desire to see her hale and whole once more, then for the sake of his friend’s sanity.</p><p>Neither was sated, in the end.</p><p>The failure of the Thirteenth dissolved the remnants of Elidibus’ patience. He abandoned his lax organization for something far more rigid and unforgiving, something which pointedly did not allow for such frivolity as searching for a loved one. Eons passed and with each calamity, Lahabrea lost a bit more of himself. Emet-Selch would have followed suit if not for his painstaking work ethic and attention to detail. As if by instinct, though, he never truly stopped looking. Whether due to some feeling of obligation towards Lahabrea or even to her specifically, a part of him buried deep beneath the rubble of grief and longing still searched for her in every stranger’s face, in every bright smile and glimmer of half-familiar aether.</p><p>Coincidentally, Lahabrea found her first. What a shame that he was too far gone to recognize her when he did.</p><p><em> She was </em> <b> <em>never </em> </b> <em> yours. </em></p><p>“Please…” The word leaves his lips without his permission but he has not the mind for shame. How could he? Beneath those eyes, that smile, that glow… It is little wonder why Lahabrea had been so helpless upon meeting her. It only took seven calamities and several eons between for Emet-Selch to realize he had been no more powerless than Lahabrea. Despite ages of denial, of throwing himself into his gruesome work… </p><p>Where before he felt his own humanity, fragile and fleeting, he now feels something so much more. He feels <em> her </em>instead: inescapable, consuming, infinite.</p><p>Ah, she shows Emet-Selch that radiant smile, and that damned word emerges from his breathless lungs once more, closer to a curse than a plea.</p><p>“What happened?” she asks, stroking a gentle thumb over the rise of his cheekbone. Quite a chaste gesture for a woman still rutting her naked cunt against his lap. “Where’s that composure, that poise? You’re usually so verbose but it seems all your words have left you.”</p><p><em> “Please,” </em> he breathes yet again, helpless.</p><p>She leans forward and presses her lips just below his ear, and when she speaks the words thrum through his body like vibrations through a hollow instrument. “Oh, but you didn’t forget that one.” She chuckles and even that sets his flesh aflame. “Luckily that one is my favorite.”</p><p>He feels the crack of his foundation, the dangerous chime of shattered glass just before it falls to pieces. The heat of tears begins to build in his cheeks and he has to bite his lip near to bleeding to maintain some semblance of composure, lest he surrender to her sooner than he would like.</p><p>Though the surrender itself is inevitable.</p><p>Instead of letting his turbulent emotions once again get the better of him, he focuses on her and each sensation she inflicts upon him. A careful hand wraps around his cock and his hips twitch and buck in response. His fingertips dig into the soft skin of her waist. Her lips kiss a path further down his neck and her tongue darts out to taste it, both the sweat on his skin and the pulse thrumming beneath. Her unoccupied hand skims up the line of his spine to fist the hair at the base of his neck, tugging gently. He is once again helpless to resist, tilting his head back to expose more of his neck, mouth agape.</p><p><em> “Oh…” </em> The moan emerges from his lungs without his permission but he cares not, especially not when her hips shift in response. She moves forward, ever slightly, and ilm by ilm he feels her constricting warmth envelop his cock. So carefully she lowers herself, until she is seated fully upon him.</p><p>Emet-Selch releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding when her hips press flush with his own. His length fully hilted within. Unable to resist the pleasure of touching her in as many ways as possible, he places his hands on either side of her cheeks and pulls her into a kiss. She returns it with her own languid love, a hand still fisted in his hair holding simply to hold.</p><p>But then, she begins to <em> move. </em></p><p>Her hips rise and fall at a slow pace, still growing accustomed to his length and girth. She sighs against his lips and he relishes the sound, making way for her tongue that he might be granted more for his troubles. The warmth of her is intoxicating each time her hips press against his own. She pulls back for air and Emet-Selch thinks for a moment that he wouldn’t mind dying to such pleasurable suffocation.</p><p>Emet-Selch’s hands skim down to rest just below her rib cage, feeling each stretch of muscle as she breathes and moves around him. Touching for the simple joy of <em> feeling </em> her, in the purest manner. Flesh against wanting flesh as they come together as one.</p><p>He looks up then and finds her smiling, content. Lahabrea may have been able to provide this joy to her in another time, but he is gone. Emet-Selch will not feel remorse for taking freely what he has earned. No longer.</p><p>A fresh fire ignites in his core at that understanding, one that pushes him ever closer to his climax. Simultaneously he feels her hands at his shoulders press, easing him backwards to lay on the mattress. He follows her lead to lay prone and she keeps her hands planted at his shoulders as leverage to quicken her pace.</p><p>He can only stare up at her as she moves, as she takes from him what she wants— and <em> that </em> is yet more fuel for his fire: that she wants this enough to take it for herself. To pin him to soft sheets and set her own pace, seek her own release. She’s beautiful, <em> always, </em> but this version of her steals the breath from his lungs.</p><p>He deigns to tell her as much, a surprise to even him as the words leave his lips. But he means them, and he means for her to hear them, and thus his shame in saying so finds no purchase upon his soul.</p><p>Her reaction is worth the words used to elicit them. She looks up at him in surprise and a blush takes her cheeks, deeper than the flush of exertion that has already claimed the rest of her visage.</p><p>“I’m sure you’re used to using that clever tongue…<em> hah </em>…to get what you want,” she murmurs, but can’t quite keep the bashful smile from her lips.</p><p>“I merely speak the truth,” he responds barely above a whisper. He shifts his hips upwards to meet one of her downwards thrusts and receives a surprised whine for his efforts. “What need have I for honeyed words when what I seek has already found a home between my hands?”</p><p><em> “Ah… </em> Emet-Selch…” She keens and speeds up. “Please, more, I—”</p><p>The plea alone is his undoing. He holds her waist tight and continues thrusting up into her, and her moans nearly cover the rhythmic smack of skin on skin as they connect. Cries for <em> more, faster, please </em> reach his ears and he is incapable of denying them. One hand moves to rub circles around her clit and at the first touch, she is undone. Her hands clench into fists where they still rest on his shoulders, scratching red lines into his skin as she does so. She bends forward and shudders her release and Emet-Selch cannot take his eyes away from her for even a moment. He fucks her through it, savoring the heat and tightness as she clenches around him. Pleasure coils tight in his core and it’s almost too much to hear her gasp in the aftershocks.</p><p>She begins to come down from her high and finally lifts her head to look up at Emet-Selch. Her lips shine a plump red from their kisses, quirked up into a satisfied grin, and her eyes are half-lidded and nearly glassy as she looks at him. Seemingly on a whim she rolls her hips down into his once more, this time with enough force to stay his movements.</p><p>“How selfish of me to chase my own peak and leave you wanting…” She lifts her hips and lowers them slowly, and Emet-Selch lets out a moan at the change in pace. “I’ll let you savor this.”</p><p>She bends over and presses her lips against his pulse once more, until he feels the sharp sting of teeth. Her hips punctuate a pace that speeds up by ilms, until Emet-Selch once more finds himself meeting her thrusts with his own. She dots his neck with tiny bites that leave his skin tingling in her wake. She laves her tongue over them soothingly and a low moan erupts from deep within his lungs.</p><p><em> “Oh… </em> Please, I… I need…”</p><p>She chuckles and the breath is cool against his neck, against the red marks blooming against fair skin. She slows her pace again. “Hmm? I couldn’t quite hear that, dearest.”</p><p>Emet-Selch hisses a curse and tries to buck his hips up again, but her strength is uncanny. She pins him to the bed, body and soul, enough so that he wonders if this will be where he dies.</p><p>But <em> oh, </em> what a way to go.</p><p>“I need you… Please…” he manages to say between gasps for air.</p><p>She leans forward until her chest is flush with his, their bodies pressed together in a hard line. The contact itself  melts the fragile remains of his composure. Her whisper finds his ear and he shudders at the sensation before the words even register in his mind.</p><p>“I’m already yours.”</p><p>Her hips come down into his one last time to meet his and he groans through his release, a wave of heat over his entire body. The coil of pleasure wound so tight in his core, finally given release. He lifts his arms and wraps them around her torso, crushing her body impossibly closer to his own. He buries his face into her hair and breathes her in and it is almost too much for his fragile psyche.</p><p>Once again, he consciously begins to understand. To have loved her, to love her still, to love her until the end of his days — and most of all to be loved by her. The pure nostalgic bliss of knowing her and being known by her. The perfection of the moment paired against the searching and longing of ages past. It all crashes into him like a wave and he surrenders to the tide.</p><p>She was never <em> Hades’, </em> but she could be Emet-Selch’s.</p><p>Emet-Selch isn’t sure how much time passes before she begins to squirm, mumbles something about crushing him. The movement and her voice bring him back to his senses; gingerly he releases her, lets her dismount his cock and lay beside him instead. He remains still, unsure of the boundaries, unable to see whatever line is drawn between them.</p><p>In his periphery he sees her look over at him. She grins and sighs, before spreading her arms out to either side. “Oh, come here. You may be a horrible, wretched villain but you are not above seeking physical comfort.”</p><p>And how can he refuse?</p><p>He rolls to curl on his side and feels her arms around his shoulders, so warm and so safe. His head rests just above her heart and he listens closely as it beats its mortal rhythm.</p><p>“See?” she asks as a hand smooths down his hair, “Was that so hard?”</p><p>He wraps his arms around her torso and holds her close in turn. Her presence is enough to soothe his worries, to chase his doubts back into the shadows. In her afterglow the past is a faraway dream, dull in the face her resplendence. He sighs, and hugs her close, and for the first time in so long he wishes he could stop time in this <em> present </em> moment. Not his beautiful past, not the world he once knew, but here and now.</p><p>Instead of expressing this, he listens to her heart as it labors to keep its champion alive. Closes his eyes and basks in the moment of rest.</p><p>Norvrandt falls away. Their upcoming excursion to Amh Araeng fades to nothing. The Rejoining and Zodiark and the abundance of light aether surging within her vessel — all problems better left for another time. Her voice buzzes through him when she speaks again.</p><p>“For an evil Ascian, you’re a surprisingly good cuddler. I might keep you here a little longer than is strictly necessary.”</p><p>Emet-Selch smiles, chuckles softly. “So long as you are satisfied.”</p><p>
  <em> But perhaps now, after everything, she can be yours. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>lahabrea, from hell: GET IT HADES!!!!!! GET IT!!!!!<br/>yes i know i've put this format in the notes of another fic but y'know what? i do what i want</p><p>let me write fic for you <a href="http://twitter.com/shoutzwastaken">@shoutzwastaken</a></p><p>i write fics for my friends in <a href="https://discord.gg/X6NJJAb">the book club</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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